In a mirror quietly staring
by xXKazaneXx
Summary: Written for Malaysia's birthday. Who are you? What are you? Where are you going to? We ask you these questions, dear Mother, so that you know where to lead us. You are us, as we are you. Our future is yours.


_Inspired by dinosaurusgede's amazing doujinshi, Maaf. My characterization of Malaysia has been very much influenced by her version. This was written in conjunction with Malaysia's birthday (which I missed but it's too early for Malaysia Day) and also to voice out some concerns. Feel free to disagree. _

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_Who are you? What are you? Where are you going to?_

"Ruin." drawls the person idly picking at their fingernails.

"Oh hush, that's rude!" And the drawler is wacked upside the head.

"Ow! It's true you know."

"Tch…. how tactless." Someone comments aloud.

"But things can change and we're better off than most people!"

"Keep telling yourself that."

Malaysia stares impatiently at the two bickering teenagers and irritably wonders where she is. One moment she's observing Singapore's butt (which just happened to be in her line of vision, really) at some boring meeting, next she knows she's at a strange beach with too many people. It's definitely one of hers even if she can't quite place it at the moment, and these people….

They're hers, all of these young people gathered here. She can tell their ancestry with just a glance. The giggling one over there is Hakka and the tall one standing under the tree is Punjabi. The trio staring admiringly at her (rather rude though flattering) is Bajau Ubian, Kedayan and Batek. That one is Malay-Pakistani-Arab and there's a Chinese-Indian child idly playing with the sand. Everyone who has ever called themselves her's, gathered here, on an unidentified beach.

It did not make sense. And Malaysia's irritation now knew no bounds. This did not make sense; she was supposed to be in a meeting. But, the million ringgit question is: What is going on here?

In an act that almost seemed rehearsed, one of them steps out of the crowd. Very ordinary looking: brown eyes, dark hair; mouth, nose, ears intact. This must be exposition time, yay goodie…..

"Hello Mother," and a warm smile stretches the speaker's face, "we've wanted to meet you for a long time."

"Thank you my child, but whatever for?" No sense in being anything but 100% regal even if she just wants to hit someone over the head with a slipper.

"Well... we just had some concerns we wanted to voice out to you. Us… that is the young people," nervous smile but oh so sincere. The young ones are all like that, no matter what era. "I don't know whether you've realized it but our society is becoming deeply fragmented. And that's not who we are, not who _you_ are," continues the speaker with growing confidence and the crowd edges ever closer.

Not cool. Totally not cool.

"We just want to ask, where are you going to? Who do you plan to be?"

"Yeah, 'cause if you really can't decide we can all easily pack ou- mffff!"

"What we mean to say is, we love you and we know you need time to decide but we worry, Mother. We're afraid you'll still continue to be blind."

Man was this insulting, a kid talking to her like _she_ was the brat, and spouting nonsense about not knowing herself and other bullshit. She's Malaysia, thank you very much and Her Ever Right and Royal Highness does not need lecturing.

"It seems you do not get it," exclaims a voice in disbelief.

"But Malaysia was never just one," murmurs someone in the west.

"We are distinct but at heart the same," declares someone in the east.

"And we accept without conditions," is proclaimed to loud snorts and cynical laughs.

"Because everyone here has different cultures and we love all the same," firmly states another child.

"We don't expect everyone to conform; we don't bury what makes all of us unique," insists someone else.

"Ours is a history of tolerance, which you are intent to rewrite," a rough voice accuses.

They talk, all of them talk. Voices, voices in a dizzying array, they are the voices of her accusing children asking why she would not love them the same. Why would she not protect all of them and yet leave those protected to harm? Why? Why? Why, Mother?! Even though we love you. We love you.

"Enough," she cries, "enough!" And the voices still to a disorientating hush.

"We want you to know, that you can't just keep on disregarding us. You cannot just close your eyes and rewrite reality to your own liking. Because, you know we are all your children. And you know very well what exactly our culture is. It is a mixture of every ethnicity we've ever come in contact with. Our street talk is a mishmash of all the languages we know."

"We let you go now, so you may think this through. Because you're nothing but a confused child at this point and that's bad for business," the Cantonese girl stands in front of her and deadpans, "Clear your head, and really think about what you're doing instead of flirting with Singapore and squabbling with Indonesia."

"Goodbye Mother!" they all say in unison. And Malaysia feels herself falling down, down, down into the sea. And when she surfaced, the first thing she saw was Singapore's peeved face. She had fallen asleep at her own birthday party.


End file.
